


Betterment

by ashkatom



Series: FBaTNverse [9]
Category: Homestuck
Genre: Multi, Pale Romance | Moirallegiance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-01-10
Updated: 2014-01-10
Packaged: 2018-01-08 05:24:45
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,130
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1128846
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ashkatom/pseuds/ashkatom
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After making it through death and finding his place, Dualscar realises he still has work to do.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Betterment

**Author's Note:**

  * For [kijikun](https://archiveofourown.org/users/kijikun/gifts).



You think you're doing fine once you're out of the Game. The lot of you spread out a bit, but that doesn't come as a surprise, after having to live on top of each other for however long you were stuck in the bubble. Time had a way of going funny, in there. Stagnating.

In any case, you're all doing better than you were, with a wider area to roam over and less chance of accidentally stumbling across each other's issues. Even Spin's absence doesn't feel as pointed as it did; she'd be gone for half a sweep with no word sometimes, and she's been filed away in that part of your mind. Eventually you'll realise she's not going to kick down the door and throw a pack of cards at you before raiding the fridge and putting her boots up on the table, but not yet. It's like the world recognises your scuffed-up group needs a chance to unwind before throwing any more shit at you.

The whole 'living again' thing is a bit like that. You keep waiting for the other shoe to drop. Eventually, you realise that there isn't another shoe. Con starts talking to you, and so does Sum. You bury yourself in the mundane and keep to yourself.

You don't realise that you might be hiding until Psi's at your door one night, taking off his shoes, and you realise it's been almost a month. You've seen Suf more recently, but as far as people go, you've been on Trollian, and otherwise, you've been busy. Only now, you realise that you don't know what you've been busy with.

Psi looks around your hive, his eyebrows rising bit by bit as he takes in how exactly the same it is since he was last over. "What have you been doing?" he asks, in a tone that means,  _obviously nothing here_.

"Things," you reply, and gesture magnanimously down the hall. You miss your wreck. Hell, you miss your underground lake. You didn't have to deal with dealing with life there.

\--

You've all been doing your own things, more or less. It explains why your hive feels so empty, when you all used to live on Dol's floor. You haven't heard from Dol or Red lately; last you knew, Red had shouted, '4DV3NTUR3!' and they've been gone since, although they pop up on Trollian fairly regularly. You figure it's best to not interrupt. Psi's off with Mai most of the time, and Suf's with Dis and Sum, trying to figure out what happened after he died.

The first time, anyway. You keep forgetting that you're gods, now. At least the others seem to be on top of their domains; you're not even sure what Heart should  _do._ Handmaid said it was about knowing yourself, in one of the few times she got angry enough to drop her mysterious act.

Anyone praying to you is fucked, you decide.

It's the first time you admit to yourself that something is wrong.

\--

Suf shows up on your doorstep about a week after Psi does, probably because they’ve hatched some kind of conspiracy to stop you from being a useless lump, which is like Psi. Sometimes he fights you until the two of you are at a snarling standstill, and sometimes he decides to delegate and divert resources, and either way it’s annoying and has a tendency to be exactly what you need.

It’s been weird, trying to translate your relationship into this new world. It feels almost like you’ve taken a step back, now that you’re not forced into occupying the same space and the same problems. You guess it’s part of the team dynamic breaking down, now that you’re done saving the world. Maybe that’s why everything feels a little fake here; you need to get to know this world and these dynamics, instead of having them thrust upon you.

Still, your hands fit to Suf as easily as ever, and when he’s crushed against you and panting into your neck, everything feels right for once. This world might not be yours, and your place in it might not be as obvious, but you have a place here, at least. You worked hard to become worthy of it.

Later, you make dinner, the effort going into it seeming proportional to the results for once. You fed yourself while you were on your own, but cooking for yourself has always seemed like a pointless expenditure of energy. Being able to offload some of the food on someone else feels more balanced than filling your fridge with leftovers you’ll never eat.

You curl up on the couch together after dinner, Suf’s warmth soaking into your bones. It makes you sleepy in a comforting sort of way, rather than in the tired way you’ve been lately. Your fingers skim along his stomach of their own accord, and you let your eyes close since he can’t see you, back pressed along your chest. He’s been busy, you know. You still missed this.

“I was hoping I could stay,” Suf says, his voice oddly hesitant. You spent most days in the bubble together, either at Dol’s place or in your wreck, towards the end, but you guess you’re not the only one still feeling out the limits in this new world.

“Yeah,” you say, and let your arm drape a little heavier along his side. You probably shouldn’t sleep out of sopor, with the day terrors you’ve been having, but it’s tempting to try to make this moment last as long as you can.

There’s another long pause, and you can feel the rise and fall of Suf’s chest become something different, his breathing changing as he thinks. Finally, he says, “I was hoping I could stay for a while.”

You prop yourself up on one elbow so that you can actually look at him. “What happened to Dis?”

Suf twists to look up at you better and frowns at what he sees. “I was catching up,” he says, and raises a hand to your face. “We’re caught up. Do you not want me to stay?”

“No!” you say, then amend, “Wait, yeah, I mean-” and then cut yourself off before any more stupid falls out of your mouth. “I want you to stay,” you say, and drop back down so that he can’t see the flush you feel spreading over your fins. You were always travelling when you were alive, and while it provided a great deal of variety in your personal life, it wasn’t exactly a _stable_ life. You think the closest you ever got to living with a quadrantmate was Spin, and that was more sharing an ocean than anything else.

You aren’t exactly well-practiced at being smooth in this area, is what you’re getting at.

“Good,” Suf says, and yawns. “This couch is mine.”

You press your forehead to the back of his head and curl your arm back around him. “Everythin’s yours,” you promise him, giddily. “Except one a’ Psi’s flightsuits that he locked into my wardrobifier somehow. Stay anyway.”

“Oh, that’s a deal-breaker,” Suf says, and even as gloomy as you’ve been, you smile.

\--

You get day terrors, which you are doubly annoyed at because you saw them coming. At least you don’t thrash around like you did when you were younger. Intead you wake up to find yourself locked into place, and have to grit your teeth until your body relaxes enough to move.

You manage to extract yourself from Suf without waking him up by climbing over the back of the couch, although it’s not much of a feat, given how he sleeps. You don’t remember what you were dreaming, but you’re left uneasy in your skin, your fins twitching. Being on land has you off-kilter and you wish you had enough water to swim in, turn you back into the predator you’re meant to be.

Ahab’s is in your strife specibus. You almost call it forth, feel the space in your hands where it would appear, before letting it go. Something still feels off, and it’s not this world, as much as you wish it was. You could deal with this being an issue of warm sunlight and blunted claws, but you’d be restless anywhere you were set down, you think.

It wasn’t hard, sleeping through the day in Dol’s bubble. Something has changed, and it isn’t just the scenery. It might be worth talking to Dol about, to see if you’re the only one, but it might feel like too much of a pale overture. She’s been quiet on the subject, and you know you’re not the only one Spin still haunts.

You almost head for your computer anyway. At the last moment, you turn away and crawl into your cupe instead. Suf’ll know where to look for you when he wakes up.

\--

He lets you sleep, instead. He usually wakes up earlier than you, to be fair, but the active presence of someone in your hive tends to wake you up. You wonder if it’s a good or a bad thing that his doesn’t.

He’s cross-legged on the couch, husktop in his lap, by the time you scrub yourself down and pull on the first clothes that come to hand. You expect a smile, or at least a wave when you cross through to the kitchen, but instead you get pinned to the wall with a frown.

“Are you wearing that?” he asks.

You look down. You haven’t accidentally put on either his or Psi’s clothes, and while they’re barely a step up from sleeping clothes, there aren’t any gaping holes or stains. “They appear to be on my body,” you inform him, “so yeah, I am?”

Suf blinks at you. “I sent you a message. Rosa’s dropping by with some of my stuff.”

Your heart seizes, trying to decide whether it should be happy or not. Finally you collapse onto the chair nearest the couch, your knees giving out. “I ain’t been that bad,” you say, your voice coming out more pleading than you intend. “You don’t have to sic Dol on me.”

Suf sighs and shuts his husktop. “Wholly aside from the issue that I actually do want my stuff, since I last washed these clothes while I was with Disciple, when was the last time you left the hive?”

Your lips tighten, and you feel your fins flare out. “If you’re stayin’ with me ‘cause you think I’m goin’ to- to off myself-” He raises an eyebrow, and you deflate. “I ain’t,” you finish.

“I don’t think you _can_ ,” Suf says, almost absent-minded about it. “I’m staying for the couch. If I get crazy, I might insist on one of those human mattresses. But you haven’t been talking to any of us - or checking Trollian, apparently, and I am allowed to live with you _and_ be worried at the same time.”

You run your hand through your hair, still wet, to buy some time. “I ain’t doin’ well,” you admit, finally. Your fins down, you add, “It helps some, that you an’ Psi are around,” quietly. “But it ain’t something I can talk out, like Dol does. An’ I don’t want her tryin’ to _help_ me.”

You’ve never been sure how much Dol mentioned to Suf about- about everything. In any case, you don’t add that it would be poison to take any help from Dol, after all she’s done for you. After all you did to her. She has done more for you than you ever deserved, already, and at this point having her try to help you - _again_ \- will just drive home how utterly useless you are.

“It’s not like you can avoid her forever,” Suf points out. “What are you going to do, ‘Oh, hi, Dol. I just gotta get somethin’ in the other room,’ all your life?”

“No,” you say, even though part of you thinks it’s a very plausible plan. You rub your face. “Look, I’ll - I’ll talk to her, alright? Just not tonight.”

Suf hesitates, then nods.

\--

You hole up back in your room before Dol gets to your place. Your courtly manners are incredibly offended at you, but they were rusty anyway. Suf said he’d tell Dol you were out, so as long as you don’t start tripping over your own feet, you’ll be left alone. Which is what you want. The fact that you can’t stop twisting your fingers around each other means nothing.

You’re too riled up to read, but there isn’t much else to do in your block. You settle in front of the computer instead, and your gaze - as it always does, unwilling - settles on Trollian’s count of unread messages.

So, you’ve been watching Trollian to make sure that everyone else is still alive. At first you figured that you’d answer the messages sent your way later, and then the count got overwhelming, and then you stopped caring. You don’t know how long it’s been - maybe a month. Maybe two. You still went out from time to time, and Suf and Psi were visiting, so it’s not like you dropped off the map completely.

You sigh and close your eyes. You can’t keep ducking into another room forever.

\-- callousCondescension [CC] has started trolling crushedAdmiral [CA] --   
CC: WAV-E to miss the exseabocean, dumbass!   
CC: Ug)(, don’t efin tail me you’re idle again. I s)(oaled ask )(andmaid to pop over and scare you.   
CC: W)(at )(appened to t)(e nig)(ts w)(en you were afraid of me? I miss t)(ose.   
CC: Answer before I decide to make t)(em happen again.   
CC: Seadiot.   
\-- callousCondescension [CC] has ceased trolling crushedAdmiral [CA] --

\-- assiduousCollaborator [AC] has started trolling crushedAdmiral [CA] --   
AC: :?? appawrently psi and suf haven’t heard from you in a while?   
AC: :// so   
AC: :// message me back when you get this   
AC: :33 message me furst and i win twenty boondollars. come through for your ash quadrant, dualscar.   
\-- assiduousCollaborator [AC] has ceased trolling crushedAdmiral [CA] --

\-- annihilatedTrust [AT] has started trolling crushedAdmiral [CA] --   
AT: jUST SO YOU KNOW,   
AT: i MISS HER TOO,   
AT: aND HIDING DOESN’T HELP,   
AT: i WISH IT DID,,,   
\-- annihilatedTrust [AT] has ceased trolling crushedAdmiral [CA] --

\-- guiltlessCustodian [GC] has started trolling crushedAdmiral [CA] --   
GC: H3Y, BL4CKCURR4NT!   
GC: OUR D4RL1NG ROS4 H4S TOLD M3 TO T3LL YOU TH4T W3 W1LL B3 B4CK 1N TOWN SOON.   
GC: SH3 WOULD B3 T3LL1NG YOU H3RS3LF, 3XC3PT H3R PHON3 GOT 34T3N BY 4 LUSUS.   
GC: 1T W4S H1L4R1OUS 4ND 1 H4V3 M4D3 4 BLOG D3D1C4T3D TO 1TS M3MORY.   
GC: TH3 PHON3, NOT TH3 LUSUS. TH3 LUSUS 1S F1N3, TH4NKS TO ROS4’S SWOON-WORTHY 1NT3RV3NT1ON.   
GC: 4NYW4Y, W3’LL B3 1N TOUCH.   
\-- guiltlessCustodian [GC] has ceased trolling crushedAdmiral [CA] --

\-- candidGovernance [CG] has started trolling crushedAdmiral [CA] --   
CG: DUALSCAR.   
CG: OKAY, FINE, YOU’RE EITHER NOT THERE OR PRETENDING TO NOT BE THERE. WHICHEVER.   
CG: YOU MANAGED TO MAKE PSI ACTUALLY WORRY ABOUT YOU. SINCE HE HAS THE COMMON SENSE OF THE AVERAGE THUMBTACK AND HAS BEEN IN NO LESS THAN FIVE PRISONS, THIS IS BOTH WORTHY OF ADMIRATION AND WORRYING.   
CG: LOOK, IF YOU’RE READING THIS, I’M COMING OVER. IF YOU ARE UNKEMPT AND WAN, I WILL BE VERY DISPLEASED AND THROW ALL YOUR HAIR PRODUCTS AT YOU.   
\-- candidGovernance [CG] has ceased trolling crushedAdmiral [CA] --

You rub your face and then message Disciple, because helping someone win money off their friends is a sacred tradition, and it means you don’t have to think about the rest of the messages. Not Summoner’s, and not Redglare’s. And you hadn’t expected Condesce to be worried, even if she’s attempting to show it by terrifying you.

Right. You’ve hit bottom, you get it. You’ve done it before, and crawled back up. You just wish it didn’t feel like something in you was fractured.

\-- twofoldAbolitionist [TA] has started trolling crushedAdmiral [CA] --   
TA: hey d2   
TA: ii know you’re there wiith my magiic computer power2 2o let’2 ju2t 2kiip the plea2antriie2 of you iignoriing me   
TA: gue22 what   
CA: wwhat   
TA: no, gue22   
CA: wwell my guess wwould be that you’re a bulgewwipe but that ain’t as surprisin as you think it is   
TA: 2woon, your bulgewiipe, etc   
TA: do you giive up   
CA: wwhen it comes to you? alwways   
TA: ii never promii2ed to not tell dr that you’re there   
TA: enjoy the lecture <3<   
\-- twofoldAbolitionist [TA] has ceased trolling crushedAdmiral [CA] --

You stare, wide-eyed, at Psi’s message before closing Trollian reflexively. Maybe you can jump out the window. Maybe you can jump out of every window. Before you can, there are two raps on your door, firm but not demanding.

You probably shouldn’t be able to identify Dol from the way she knocks.

“Dualscar,” she calls, after a moment of you freezing in misery. “Either you can let me in or I can keep talking through this door, but I promise you that ignoring me is going to be _difficult_.” She pronounces _difficult_ with relish, and you realise with a sinking feeling that she has been dealing with grubs for the past two months and the line at which she gets pissed off is probably a lot closer for it.

When you open the door, she takes two steps in before turning to look at you; when she does, her eyes rake you from head to toe and find you wanting. Helplessly, you shrug, and try for an optimistic lie. “I’m fine, Dol, I don’t know-”

She folds her arms. Then, with grace and deliberation and the feel of a falling guillotine, she kicks the door shut. “I leave for _two months_ ,” she begins, and collapses into your chair before propping her elbow on your desk and her chin on her hand. “Explain.”

You sit on the ground, feeling about five sweeps old. “Dol...”

“I said explain, not appeal,” she says, and the words are harsh enough that you actually look up at her. There are shadows under her eyes and her clothes are rumpled; she’s tired and barely been home, if that’s any indication, and you feel guiltier for it.

You bite the bullet. “This ain’t your job.” Before she can interrupt, you hold up a hand and rush your words out. “I just ain’t been myself lately. I’m fine, though, and it ain’t something you have to worry yourself over.” There. If you were convincing enough, your post-death angst bullshit isn’t going to be something that ticks around in her brain, looking for a solution. You are almost entirely convinced she has better things to think about.

She tilts her head to look at you, and her eyes are dark in your shadowed room. You can’t tell what she’s thinking, even when she reaches down and presses a hand to one of your cheeks, her thumb smoothing along one of the lines of your scars. “Not yourself,” she says, eventually. “How so?”

You can’t pull away, with her hand on your cheek the way it is, so you let your eyes half-close until you can barely make out the shape of her. It’s the first time you’ve spoken since she left, and part of you is calling you sick, for dragging her into this when you were so staunchly against it. The rest of you is caught in the feel of her hand, barely warm against your skin. “Spin’s dead,” she drags out of you, and then part of you crumples. “An’ that means that the only one left is me,” you say, and feel something roll down your cheek. The last time you cried was probably when you were a pupa, and you have to reach up and touch your cheek to believe you’re crying now.

“The only one left of who?” Dol asks, pressing a handkerchief into your numb fingers with infinite patience.

You look up at her, finally, not bothering to wipe your eyes. “Your _slavers_ , Dol.”

She blinks down at you, caught in honest surprise. “And?” she asks, finally, her hand still. “Do you think I’m going to enact some kind of retaliatory murder? I could, if it would make you feel better.”

You feel your fins go flat even before you say, “I wish you would.”

Dol stills. It’s not surprise - well, maybe it’s part surprise, but her eyes are flame and the line of her mouth is contempt, and you almost try to jerk your chin up to show your neck before you catch yourself. Con gets mad like a snake and Spin got mad like a hurricane, but Dol gets mad like vengeance.

You dig your hands into the carpet and breathe. If there’s something you can manage to agree on with yourself, it’s that Dol deserves her vengeance.

She gets down on her knees to be eye-to-eye with you and tells you in low tones that almost slip past your ears, “I am _done_ with murder, Orphaner.” When you don’t respond, she takes your face in her hands and forces you to look at her. “I am done with death. I am done with you dying inside yourself. If you want to _atone_ -” her lip curls slightly, “- you will _live_. And you will move on.”

You take a shuddering breath and blink. “But-”

“I don’t recall asking your objections,” she says.

“But nobody _knows_!” you snarl over her. When she doesn’t cut you off, you work your fingers under her hands until she pulls away, and your soul settles a little. “They all- none a’ them realise that I’m not this.” You gesture at yourself in frustration. “None a’ them know what I did to you!”

Instead of - of denouncing you, or storming out, or _something_ , Dol rocks back onto her heels and looks thoughtful. “So it’s the implied dishonesty that bothers you?” she asks, after a moment.

You throw your hands up. “Yes! Along with everythin’ else!”

She gnaws on a nail for a moment in a very un-Dol-like manner before finally taking a deep breath. “I need you to listen to me.” When you cautiously incline your head, she continues. “You’re the same person you’ve ever been, Dualscar.”

Your shoulders slump. You’re not sure why, since this was the answer you were looking for. Maybe if you’re lucky she’ll leave you to rot, after this.

“But,” she says, voice regaining her characteristic firmness, “that person exists on a spectrum.” She jabs you in the chest with a finger, uncannily accurate to where your heart is, and you accidentally meet her eyes when you flinch. “Looking at yourself as a series of disparate selves is only hurting you. The change is important, not an arbitrary selection of time periods that you can point to as proof that you’re a good person now.”

“...What?” you say, to cover up the fact that her words make too much sense.

She twitches an eyebrow upwards, barely, in admonishment. She’s always been able to see through you. She was able to see through you when she couldn’t face the world, and she can do it now that she’s found her place in it.

You wonder what you do for her.

“Action,” she says, “not _sulking_.” She pauses, and the first look of hesitance you’ve seen on her surprises you into not protesting that you’re not sulking. “If you feel as if you’re telling a lie of omission, it may be time to rectify that.”

You stare at her, before finding your voice in time to scramble towards a protest, this time. “Dol, it’s your _thing_ , not mine, I wasn’t-”

“You feel guilty about it,” Dol says, “and I am giving you permission.” She smiles, or a close approximation of it. “Psiionic and Disciple already know, of course. I have to admit that I’ve been too ashamed to tell Sufferer.” She closes her eyes, and this time it’s your turn to hesitantly - so hesitantly, so slowly - reach up and carefully wipe away the lone tear that escaped her control.

“Me too,” you say, and your voice rasps a little.

“Well,” she says, and closes her eyes, breathes through her nose. When she opens her eyes again, she is her usual self, and you want to declare her your Empress. Before you realise what she is doing, she takes your face in her hands again - this time, with a feather-light grip - and presses her lips to your forehead. They burn. “Let us go be better people, Dualscar.”

\--

The apprehensive look on Suf’s face is nothing to the terror that ricochets through you when you tell him that you need to talk. Dol sits beside you, though, and her nails slice into your hand under the table, and as usual, she was right. This was something that you needed to do.

You slice her hand back and hope that, soon, you’re actually worthy of these people.


End file.
